


Only a Little Dead

by MrsHamill



Series: Sandman Crossover Project [16]
Category: The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Multiple Crossovers, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:23:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6027586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not dead yet! Pairing: John Sheppard/Death (with a special guest appearance by Desire)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Little Dead

**Author's Note:**

> I think this was the first story I wrote in Stargate: Atlantis fandom.

* * *

In the back of his mind, he had one of those sneaking suspicions that it was all unreal, not really happening, just a fever dream or something. He'd wake up in the padded ward in Bethesda, suffering from a really, really bad case of PTSD from being in Afghanistan -- or something like that. Really, the whole notion of stargates and programmable wormholes and traveling to the Pegasus Galaxy sounded more like a particularly bad episode of the original Star Trek, like the one where they lost Spock's brain.

Or maybe he'd look around one day and see Rod Serling's ghost, standing on the control bridge, smoking a cigarette and talking about the Twilight Zone. Actually... that would be pretty cool.

Problem was he was almost certain that he could never have come up with a cast of characters like those he was living with on his own. People like Teyla, people like McKay. Especially McKay.

So when he opened his eyes and found himself on the warm grass in Golden Gate Park, it wasn't that much of a surprise. The last thing he remembered clearly was that damn tick thing attached to his neck and McKay babbling about the wormhole collapsing. So it was all a dream, or something.

"Or something." 

The voice surprised him and he whipped around. Standing a few feet from where he was sitting was a beautiful girl, a small, pale girl with a mass of dark hair on her head and a silver ankh around her neck. "I'm sorry?"

"Not really a dream. Not that bit."

He blinked, applying Occam's Razor. "Then... this is the dream?"

She seemed to consider, sliding her hands into her back pockets as she did so. "After a fashion, I guess. You're not all the way in my realm, not yet, but you're definitely not there." She grinned and it was infectious; he found himself grinning back, instinctively liking her. "Quantum singularities always give me a headache, anyway. And I am so not going to try to simulate us talking in one." She rolled her eyes.

He blinked again. Simulate us talking in one... "Um... are you..." he frowned at her, not exactly liking where the train of his thoughts was heading. 

"Go with your first guess," she said, not unkindly.

"You're death. I mean, you're Death." Subtlety being the spice of life and all.

"Yep." She smiled and it was a gentle, loving thing. "Surprised?" 

"Well, yeah, I mean..." he frowned at her again. "You're not exactly the classical, Dickensenian seven-foot-tall skeleton swathed in black robes and--"

"And carrying a great, big scythe." The impish grin was back and he liked it far better. "I sometimes tell people the scythe is in the shop and the robe at the cleaners. It helps." She giggled and he had to laugh.

Laughing helped clear his head, a little, anyway. "I don't get it. I'm dead?"

"Not exactly." She came a bit closer, though still just out of his reach, and sank into lotus on the grass. She picked one longish piece of grass and ran it through her fingers. "They shocked you--"

"That's right, they stopped my heart. To get that damned thing off my neck." He fingered the place he remembered that incredibly gross thing being, pleased to find nothing but slightly stubbly chin and neck.

"Yep. The plan was to get it off then shock you again, bring you back. But it didn't work." 

He frowned. "It didn't work? Then why..."

"Because Teyla immediately ran with you into the gate. You're not really dead but not really alive, either. Not until you're out of the singularity."

"Ah." Yes, definitely one of the worse Star Trek episodes. "So I'm... only a little dead."  
  
She giggled again. "Just a little bit."

"But are you Imorg?"

"Nah, I'm a Dalek."

That set them both off and when he stopped laughing, he found himself on his back. The grass was tickling the back of his head and arms and puffy white clouds scudded through the perfectly blue sky. Had to be a dream or at least a vision -- by his calculations, it was April and there was no sign of fog anywhere. Definitely not real. "Well, then, this is pretty cool. I get to hang with a very pretty lady while I wait for McKay to save the day. Could be worse." He gave her a look from the corner of his eye. "He is going to save the day, right?"

She looked down at her hands. She'd picked several more blades of grass and was braiding them into an intricate shape. "There are some things even I don't know. I'm Death, not Destiny. And, well, even if I did know, I--"

"You couldn't tell me." He nodded; that made sense. Then he laughed. "Or if you told me, you'd have to kill me!"

She laughed with him. "We'll both know, soon enough. I'm sure McKay is doing everything he can."

"Yeah, well, I hope so." He sighed. "At least it's his own skin he's saving as well as mine. I don't think he'd be working quite so hard if it were just me."

She smiled. It was a mysterious 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' smile and he frowned again. "What?

"He likes you, you know." He hated mysterious smiles.

"Yeah, dipped in barbeque sauce and served with mushrooms."

"No, not like that." She rolled her eyes. "He likes you a lot. You interest him because he can't figure you out."

"Because he doesn't expect a jock to be smart," he said, with his own eyeroll.

"Well, that too. But he really does like you."

"Excuse me? Do you _mind_?" It was a new voice and he raised himself up on his elbows. A very beautifully dressed but completely androgynous person was suddenly standing over both of them. He -- or maybe she -- was smoking a cigarette and frowning at the girl. "Back off, big sister. You're on my turf."

Death -- was she really Death? Considering he had yet to spot Rod Serling, he knew of no reason to think otherwise -- huffed and glared back. "Okay, okay. Chill."

In a blink, the other was gone. "Sorry. S/he has territorial issues," Death said by way of an explanation that wasn't all that understanable. "But trust me, McKay really does like you."

He pushed himself upright to better see her and was immediately hit in the chest with what felt like a lightning bolt. He gasped. "Uh... ow..." The bolt hit him again, and yet again. In the distance, he thought he could hear Dr. Beckett saying "Again!"

"I think this is your cue," she said, and her smile was back to being gentle. 

The day darkened around Major John Sheppard then faded into darkness. The grass beneath him became hard, cold deckplates. In the distance, he heard "I've got a pulse... it's getting stronger..." and he thought he heard Rodney saying something, but maybe it was just his imagination. He had a pretty good imagination, all things considered. Time to get back to it.


End file.
